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Feng Shui and the Art of Hot Dog Maintenance

About a month ago, we were watching one of those house hunting shows where a couple is ducking in and out of houses, accompanied by an agent, all the while expressing opinions on this and that. The couple in this particular episode featured a woman who was deep into feng shui. Deep into feng shui. Every room was throwing off negative energy and this wasn’t right and that wasn’t right and everything is just wrong wrong wrong. This was the constant theme. It got to the point where, as often happens on these type of shows, you begin to wonder how the person’s poor spouse doesn’t hit them over the head with something heavy on a routine basis. Even the host, whose job it is to stay positive and cordial, was very obviously seconds away from some sort of conniption fit. It struck me as great irony that someone who was such a stickler for negative energy was such a free-flowing source of it.

I’m a believer in creating a positive atmosphere, which is what feng shui should be about. Our house was getting a bit cluttered and as a result, we decided to see if there were any feng shui tips we could discover on the internet. There were, of course, but it can get hairy and confusing very quickly, so we figured it was best to stick to basics.

On Saturday, I made good on a promise I made to Laura a while ago, to take her to Hot Dog Johnny’s in Buttzville, New Jersey. I went last summer when I had a bit of extra time over lunch, and it was well worth the drive. It opened up in 1944 as a little stand off US 46 with its back to the Pequest River, and it’s continued on ever since. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon, and the parking lot was full, and full of people with license plates of other states. Hot Dog Johnny’s is one of those rare places that people are willing to drive miles out of their way to get to. A positive atmosphere.

So what makes a positive atmosphere in this case? The food, certainly. Hot Dog Johnny’s follows that fine New Jersey tradition of dipping their hot dogs in oil and frying them up a bit. I insist Rutt’s Hut in Clifton is still the best at this method, but in the end who cares? It’s all good. As for drink, they serve two unusual offerings: Birch Beer, which you can get in a frosty mug, a drink that you forget how good it is until you taste it again; and (stay with me now) Buttermilk. Yes, that’s right. A drink so old-fashioned you can only picture old guys in shorts and black socks with garters drinking it. But let me tell you something: Laura had some and it was good. Better than Buttermilk’s reputation good.

What else makes it a positive atmosphere? One of the things that we read about feng shui was that you should “keep your mouth clean.” More or less, this means to keep your entrance uncluttered, and as you can see, the round shape of the booth and the many windows assure the lines never get too long.

Water features are a big thing with feng shui. So it doesn’t hurt to have a river flowing by the place.

And of course, my favorite, the neon signs? A fire element!

Now, of course, I’m not an expert. Heck, I don’t even pretend to have the level of understanding the annoying woman on the TV show had, but it’s fairly obvious from the beginning that there is something that draws people to this place besides the eponymous hot dogs. It’s a special place. People from all around will continue to come to this spot and feel what I did, that sense of happiness, even peace, and while I was at it, had a fine dog and a birch beer. I’ll be back.

Testing…Testing…

Allow me to get technical for a moment.

It’s been an odd year for us this year. It started out with two months worth of interviews for a job that would have uprooted us to live in frozen climes, only to see it end ingloriously with a job offer that fell below the radar, followed by a trip to San Antonio, followed by taking turns with the flu. In the midst of all this, I finally decided it was high time to upgrade my lens from a kit and a few old manual primes to something better.

Mine is a Pentax K5, which has been a treat. The Pentax “limited” lens group is well recognized for its build quality and sharpness, but unfortunately, funds are just as limited and I can only afford to get one at a time. Which brings up the messy business of figuring out which lens, in fact, works best for my purposes. In that spirit, I decided to go out to some of my favorite local spots to see what focal lengths I normally use.

My first thought was that I would need something more like a portrait lens, perhaps the 70mm from Pentax, or if I felt like laying down some good money, the 77mm that everyone raves about. I came to a different conclusion on my first stop, The Movies in Hellertown. I put my 70-300 zoom on the K5 and stood across the road, knowing the results of the shots I’ve taken before. Only problem is, I couldn’t get much of anything in shot, so I went back to the kit and shot this one at a focal length of 24mm.

My 50mm prime was just as inadequate from this distance with this shot, so I pulled out my old 28mm and got this. Bear in mind I don’t have any room behind me to stand any further back, unless I wanted to be bold and walk up on someone’s front porch:

Strike one for anything above 24mm, but then again, compared to most of my sign pictures, this is an unusually large structure ( I also remind myself that Pentax makes a 21mm pancake lens, which would be ideal for this shot). A bit disappointed, I moved on to something smaller, but also one with challenges. I scooted across the border into Phillipsburg, NJ to Eddie’s Drive-In. This old ice cream stand has closed and sits in the parking lot of The Sand Bar, right near the Free Bridge across the Delaware. I put the kit lens on to start, and this time, I used a focal length of 31mm:

Exactly what I wanted, and as it happens, the jewel in Pentax’s crown as far as lenses is concerned, is their 31mm lens. However, if you take a gander at the price tag for this jewel, you’ll understand that this causes another dilemma. I went back to the car and put the 75-300 back on. Not enough room for me to get this even from the porch of The Sand Bar at 75, so I stood at an angle and got this shot:

Decent, but not exactly what I was looking for (but, by the way, Laura liked this shot better that the other). Strike two, as far as I was concerned. Anything above 40mm would not be able to get the straight-on shot I was looking for. But again, this sign is a tough one, and you really need to get the full building in shot to get the best out of it.

Then I went to Shankweiler’s Drive-In in Orefield, PA. This is a smaller sign, free-standing, and has a lot of room to stand back. In this case, the 75mm worked very well:

But which ones of these was the rarity? The large object with very little room to stand back, or the smaller neon sign with lots of room for me to roam? I kind of knew the answer to this, but when I went back home, I figured I’d go back and look at all the shots I’d already taken, and see what focal lengths I use the most often.

What I found was that I very infrequently shoot at the wide end of my capabilities, which is 18mm. This shot from Olga’s last fall was one of few that I shot at that range.

Occasionally, the best shot I took was from 75mm with my long zoom lens, but almost always I used anything higher than that to shoot details of the sign. This was one of the few I took at above 75, from Harrington Music in Cortland, NY this past spring. This one was a rarity because I rarely get a clear shot from that distance:

Overall, I shot mostly in the 28mm-40mm range, and fortunately, there are many good choices in the Pentax limited line that fit the bill. Of course, if anyone has a spare 77mm 1.8 on their hands they can let me borrow, I certainly won’t turn it down. Wish me luck!

Different Signs, Different Seasons

During one summer day last year, I found myself with a bit of time, a bit of hunger, and proximity to New Jersey. I also had my camera with me, and a sign on my New Jersey to-do list. It all came together in the form of Hot Dog Johnny’s in Buttzville, New Jersey, along US 46. It was a gorgeous day, and Hot Dog Johnny’s is located in a cool spot along the river. The place was packed, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon, and I had to wait in line for a couple of dogs.

They cook their hot dogs in the deep-fry style, which seems to be a New Jersey thing, and it is a lovely thing. Rutt’s Hut in Clifton was my first introduction to this delicious culinary mutation, so that particular location holds a special place in my heart (and perhaps, my arteries). Overall, my trip to Hot Dog Johnny was terrific. It was only sullied by the fact that I had another place on my list, Hunter’s Lodge, a motel also on Route 46, and I didn’t have the time to hit both.

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to go again, and this time, I was all about Hunter’s Lodge, and it was my hope that the cover of snow that has blanketed the Northeast this winter would add to the photographs, just as the greenery and sun brightened my Hot Dog Johnny shots.

Hunter's Lodge, Delaware, NJ

It was a little farther up 46 than I expected, and it was on the other side of the road, but from a distance I could see it was magnificent. I could also see that the driveway was mostly halfway plowed, and that there was nowhere else to stop and get a shot. On top of that, the best shot I could get meant a stroll into a snow-covered field, and, stupid man that I am, I had not brought my boots. But I bit the bullet, crunched through the icy layers, and got the shot above.

Again, I think I hit this at the right time. The winter sun adds an element to this I really like. Just in case, though, I may stop back when the snow melts…provided that ever happens.

Old Friends

Picking up where I left off last week…

New Jersey is strangely familiar to both of us. After all, Laura’s parents both came from New Jersey and both of my paternal grandparents grew up in Woodbury. We had both made several trips into the state as children, and every turn seemed to conjure up some vague memory.

This week, when I told my father-in-law about this trip, he recalled his many trips to the Jersey shore and what it was like when he was young. One night, wanting to save the expense of a motel, his father drove them out into the piney nether regions just inland and settled the car into one of the sandy access roads that cut into the miles of forest. It was too hot to sleep with the windows closed and too thick with mosquitoes with the windows open. “So we didn’t get too much sleep,” he laughed.

As we discovered, that area off the beach hasn’t changed over the years. Route 72, the most direct route from LBI to the Philadelphia area, has no turns in it. No houses or landmarks. The sandy inlets that creep back into the trees still exist, as, I’m sure, the descendants of the mosquitoes that bit my father-in-law all those years ago. Miles and miles of this until we came to one of New Jersey’s many traffic circles, then more road and another traffic circle. My objective: Olga’s Diner in Marlton. It had closed quite a while ago and last I heard it was in danger of being demolished. I half-wondered if I was going to be too late.

But then a side trip. I saw a sign: neon, maybe not too old, but interesting. And it was connected to a farm market:

While we were at it, we got some corn on the cob for dinner. New Jersey and fresh produce don’t sound like a natural fit, but in reality, New Jersey produces some of the finest. We were very pleased with corn.

Not too much later and we were upon Olga’s. Still standing, still closed, but magnificent. And oddly familiar. As I pulled in to the barren, cracked parking lot, I had something nagging at me: had I been here before? I’ve been to plenty of places in New Jersey, thirty years ago now, but I could practically picture my father pulling into this same parking lot.

I got to work. The sun was bright and clear and the front angle produced some great images.

But all the angles worked to my advantage. The coolness of the back-lighting seemed to add to the desolation of the old diner.

As I snapped off these shots, some future goombas yelled out their car window at me, “Hey, what are you doin’?” It caught me a bit by surprise and I probably flinched. At the very least I lowered my camera. They apparently thought it was funny enough that they went around the corner and yelled the same thing. And then turned the corner and tried it a third time. After that, they drove off, presumably to work on some new material.

Familiarity. Maybe déjà vu. Not sure what it was about this place, but it seems like I was here before. And I probably was.

Yep, that’s me. Standing on a tree stump, trying to get a better angle. And here’s the shot I got:

Many, many thanks to Amanda Brubaker, a native of Marlton, who posted a shot of Olga’s Diner on Instagram, inspiring me to come down and see it for myself.

This Week on Jersey Shore

“It was an education,” Laura said, when the day was all over.

Like just about everyone we know, we have a list of things we’d like that we would probably like to do one day if the weather is not too bad and it’s not too far away and my cousin isn’t coming to town and Aquarius is in Saturn and I’m not too gassy after that burrito and… Well, in short, a maybe-do list. A list where hardly anything is ever crossed off. For us, one of the things on the maybe-do was a trip to the Jersey shore. We both had been when our ages were just out of single digits but we had never been back as adults. We were wondering if we were foolish for not going, since it’s so close.

The day before Laura’s birthday and I figured, what the heck. It’s technically off-season, and when do you ever cross something off the maybe-do? Hardly ever. I thought it would be cool to go out to the Barnegat lighthouse, perhaps eat some french-fried lobster at at Howard’s (a slight bit more about this place and a hint as to my father’s obsession with this place here).

And you know me. I had some signs lined up.

It was slightly out of our way (but not five hours) to visit the Moon Motel in Howell, New Jersey. The Moon is right out of the Space Age, complete with a booster rocket that proudly announces “TV”.

moon-motel-straight

What we did not know was that the Moon Motel was closed, due to a fire that took place in March of this year. I’m not sure what this means for this old relic of a bygone era, but it could not bode well. It seemed to us that we had arrived just in the nick of time.

My theory is that the longer you travel down one of the old US roads, the more likely you are to find some great signs. We were on US 9 heading south toward Long Beach Island when we came across the remains of another motel in the town of Lakewood. By remains, I mean it was an old sign, and yards and yards of overgrown vacant lot. Sometimes it’s a mystery why some signs stay despite the absence of a building, but I wasn’t going to ponder that one too long. Lakewood Manor A slight sidebar here, but have you ever gone driving in New Jersey? I’m not so sure if I could whole-heartedly suggest it. Everything is all right as long as you don’t stop anywhere, or have any particular place to go. Outside that, chaos reigns. It’s a bit like playing one of those old text-based computer adventure games:

Make a U-turn.

You can’t do that.

Turn left.

You can’t do that. You can only go forward or right.

But I want to turn around.

You can turn right to turn left.

Explain.

You can turn off to the right, which meets at a T at the cross street. You’ll have to stop and wait for three and a half hours until traffic clears in both directions, turn left there, and then turn left at the light.

And this is preferable to a U-turn?

You can’t do that.

So I made a mistake and didn’t get on the Garden State Parkway when I should have. Which meant I had to turn around. Then I found out that I couldn’t get on the Garden State South from US 9 north. So I had to turn around again. Whereupon I had to play another text-based computer game, one which threw me into a Home Depot parking lot and eventually spit me out on the other side. Not the best twenty minutes I’ve ever spent.

Back on course, we ended up on Long Beach Island. Maybe I just didn’t remember, but every inch of land on LBI is covered by some sort of structure. There is no room. You can’t see the ocean from the main street. You have to have a beach pass to go on the beach. We were Jonesing for seafood and Howard’s is only open for dinner, and every other restaurant was Italian. Bear in mind, we are spoiled. We go every year to Daytona, where you can see the beach for miles at a time, drive on the beach if you want to, and for free. And we know plenty of seafood places that are open for lunch. Maybe it’s an unfair comparison.

Also, no good signs. Probably should have gone to Wildwood.

So we went to the Barnegat lighthouse, fully expecting to pay through the nose. Oddly enough, no one was at the little ranger station, so we drove right into the parking lot. This was worth the drive, and we managed to get to see the ocean without the aid of a pass:

Barnegat Lighthouse

When we left, still ravenous for some form of seafood, we passed by a place in Harvey Cedars (also closed) while Laura furiously checked Urbanspoon on her phone. We found practically nothing, so we kept driving until we found something promising. And open. Eventually we found the Blue Water Café in Beach Haven, who boasted of winning several clam chowder contests. Just the ticket. And let me tell you, they deserved to win any and all contests. At the risk of becoming all foodie blog upon all of your posteriors, do yourself a favor: if you’re in the area, have yourself a bowl. Two words: Un. Real.

“So how was it an education?” I asked Laura.

“It made me think about what I want,” she said. “I don’t want that. It’s all right for some, but for a beach spot, I much prefer Daytona. I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything by not coming here.”

Had to say I agreed. And I know it seems like I’m ripping on New Jersey…well, I am ripping on New Jersey, but not of its people, and not of its natural beauty, which it doesn’t get enough credit for. Despite the fact that both Laura’s parents and my paternal grandparents came from New Jersey, we’ve determined it’s just not who we are. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I think that we expend far too much energy on trying to fit into places where we don’t belong. There’s an awful lot to be said about finding your own place.

More Jersey adventures to come…

This clears one off my New Jersey To-Do List. I also made a day trip to Hot Dog Johnny’s in Buttzville, so that’s off the list as well…

Vanishing America

Far too often in what I do, I am reminded of how quickly something can change. I know I’ve said it often, but it remains true, that photography is about this very moment , that even though I can go to the same place and take the same picture, the weather will be different, the angle of the sun, and I am convinced that the mood I am in, whether I have exercised that day, and even what I had for breakfast will make a difference. And sometimes the subject will have changed, or disappeared entirely the next time.

I was going through Phillipsburg, New Jersey last spring. I discovered the Key City Diner a few weeks earlier and had gotten some shots of it, only the sun was not cooperating and somebody had parked a van right next to the sign. I figured a morning shot would be better, so before my morning appointment in Easton, I charged across the border on 78 and turned back up on to old US 22. I love the old US Highway system: some of the best secrets are hidden there.

I got stopped at pretty much every light, which, if I was normal, would annoy me, but since I constantly have my head on a swivel looking for signs, the red lights are always welcome. It was cloudy, but there was a promise of sun. And off to the side, I see a Drive-In Restaurant.

Originally called Tony’s when it opened in 1956, it was bought in the early 80s and renamed Sammy’s after the new owner, Sam Ayoub.

You can somehow tell when a place is enjoyed. I could see the kids in line in their little league uniforms and their parents sitting in these outdoor seats with their ice cream. I could also see the “For Sale” sign, and I was glad that I stopped to document the old place before it went away completely.

A few weeks ago I drove by and the Hershey’s Sign and the Sammy’s Drive-In sign were gone. I later read an article that Sammy’s signs and most everything inside was auctioned off in February of this year. I’d like to think someone will take it over and make it a local treasure once again, but…

There’s a grouping of signs that I’ve taken since 2009 that have already gone by the wayside. I’ve put them on a new page called Vanishing America.